


before/after

by katesofheaven



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Cancer, Character Death, Christianity, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Parents, Depression, Domestic Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dan Howell, Hurt Phil Lester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Parenthood, Phan - Freeform, Sad Dan Howell, Sad Phil Lester, Suicidal Thoughts, agnostic dan howell, religious phil lester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katesofheaven/pseuds/katesofheaven
Summary: Dan and Phil have a dying daughter and they deal with it in different ways, both before and after she goes.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Phan - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	before/after

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally published on my Tumblr in 2017; I'm in the process of moving my writing over here. I hope you enjoy.

The air smells warm. It smells of old books and tired carpet, of a furnace turned up too high. Phil is the only one in the pews, and the soft yellow glow of the sconces throws ellipses of light on the wall behind them. It’s so quiet here on a Monday. The ceilings are so high but the room feels so small; the cross at the altar feels close to him, even though he’s in the middle row. He fumbles with the small stack of paper on the back of the seat in front of him, and wiggles out the short pencil from its holder, wondering if there’s a special store churches buy these from.

It helps to write down his prayers. If there’s a record of what transpires when he comes here, then what he asks for is more likely to happen.

Pastor Greg pads up the main aisle, sitting at the front row with a notepad, scribbling with purpose and glancing up at the cross occasionally while he pauses to think. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Phil, but Phil is gazing at him from a few rows behind, wondering what he’s writing. Keeping records of your prayers isn’t very common.

“Writing a sermon, Phil?”

“You’re… I’m… What?”

Greg looks back at him with a smile. “Coming in here helps me write my sermons,” he says, waving his notebook. “What does it help you with?”

Phil looks down at his crumpled notes and shrugs. “I don’t know if it helps.” He can feel the pastor’s eyes still on him. “I don’t even know if he can hear me.”

He glances up to find Greg peering at him above the frames of his glasses. “Then why are you here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

His thumb rubs over the words he’s written. “I think it helps me pray.”

Greg stays silent and sets down his notebook, waiting for him to continue.

“I think He has a better chance of hearing me when I’m here. And I can feel Him more when I’m here. It feels more real.”

Pastor Greg nods. “Where does it not feel real?”

Phil breathes out a laugh. “Everywhere else.”

Greg stands up, knees popping, and shuffles over to Phil, sitting down next to him. It’s silent for a few moments, both of them staring blankly at the cross. “Rosa and I… we’re so sorry, Phil. We pray for you and your family every single night. The entire congregation is praying.”

A tear pricks at the corner of his eye and he quickly hides it with his sleeve. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner on Wednesday, after Bible study? Rosa is making casserole.”

Phil smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Thanks, but Theodora is coming home on Wednesday. I think Dan just wants to have a night in.”

Greg puts up his hand. “No problem at all. But you’re always welcome in our house, Phil, and I want you to tell Dan that too.”

Phil smiles again. “Will do. Thank you, Greg.”

“I’ll let you get back to your prayers, now,” the pastor says, clapping a hand on Phil’s shoulder and standing back up.

“What’s your sermon about this week?” Phil asks, tapping his pencil on his paper, leaving a little trail of dots as he goes.

“It’s about God’s plan,” Greg replies, gesturing to the cross standing at the altar and taking his seat in the front row once more.

* * *

The Bible in Phil’s back pocket is a recent purchase, but it’s already tattered and worn as though it’s a family heirloom. He likes to take it out intermittently throughout the day; on his breaks from work, on the bus—he sometimes sneaks it out during work meetings, too. He knows his boss sees, but he never says anything. He just lets Phil read.

That’s what happens when your daughter is dying.

All of your behavior is automatically explained. _Well of course he’s doing that, wouldn’t you?_

_I can’t imagine what I’d do in his situation._

_His poor little girl._

_His poor husband._

His workload has lightened considerably—not that he asked for it—and Patricia from the sound department gave him her extra yoghurt during lunch a few weeks ago, which was very kind of her, even though Phil is lactose intolerant. He ate it anyway, because it would be rude to throw it out.

His boss has taken to patting Phil on the shoulder and maintaining eye contact for uncomfortable amounts of time, repeating, “Jesus, Lester, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” and “You need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”

Phil is on the bus right now, so he takes out his Bible and turns it to a random page (which turns out to be Psalm 24), drinking in the words as the bus dips into potholes and skips over curbs. When his stop lights up on the marquee, he folds the page corner and stands up, holding the bar for support as the bus jumps to a halt.

The nurse at the front desk smiles at him as he walks past her to the elevator. He doesn’t really need to check in anymore. It’s not visiting hours, but they’ve given up trying to make them leave.

Phil is eternally caught between hating this place and cherishing it with his whole heart. He hates that Theodora has to stay here sometimes. He hates the dated, beige walls and the sanitary environment, but he knows that, in the future, he’ll be wishing for this. He’ll miss this. He’ll miss walking to her room, the anticipation of finding her drawing with her crayons, or sleeping peacefully. Laughing her beautiful belly laugh and making his whole life worth it, or crying out in pain while he rubs her back. He’ll miss the possibilities.

The moonlight filters through the windows and the heating system is the only sound to be heard. He doesn’t hear any laughter. He doesn’t hear snoring.

He doesn’t hear anything.

His steps pick up in speed as that one last possibility bubbles up in his stomach; he skids around the corner and swings open the door, eyes wide—she’s sleeping peacefully, little breaths going in and out of her tiny button nose, oxygen tube going slightly in her nostrils and looping around her ears.

Dan is hunched over the bed, hand clutching Theodora’s, breaths smooth and slow. His head is resting on his arm, and his eyelashes are like crescents on his cheeks. Phil pulls up a chair next to his husband as quietly as he can, resting a hand on his daughter’s knee. He closes his eyes and tries to pray but he can’t feel God right now. Instead he just places his head on the bed and tries to drift off like the rest of his family, until he feels a soft hand in his hair, and looks up to find Dan staring at him.

“How long have you been here?” The man asks groggily, sliding his hand down Phil’s neck.

“Few minutes or so,” Phil replies, looking at Theodora as she continues to breathe shallowly. “You?”

“Since this morning,” Dan says, rubbing his thumb over her small hand.

“You didn’t go to work?” Phil asks, watching his husband carefully.

Dan breathes out through his nose. “I couldn’t.”

“Dan, you need to st—” he stops talking when their daughter’s eyes flutter open and she smiles at Phil and his heart stops and then starts again.

“Hi, Teddy!” he cheers in a whisper. Her eyes light up.

“Daddy! We got to see a movie today,” she says smugly, exchanging glances with Dan.

Phil laughs. “Which one was it?”

“Moana,” Dan chuckles, voice still husky.

_“Moanaaaaaaa,”_ Theodora repeats with a fierce look in her eyes. “I love her, Daddy.” She blinks slowly. “Mulan is still the best, though. What did you do today?”

“Well, I went to work, I stopped at church for a bit—” the corners of Dan’s mouth turn down a little “—and then I came straight here,” Phil says, leaning forward to plant a loud kiss on her cheek.

“Didn’t really come straight here if you stopped at church,” Dan mutters, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Pastor Greg says we’re welcome to dinner any time,” Phil says, remembering the pastor’s request to pass on the information.

Dan grunts in response and leans over Theodora, enveloping her in a tight hug and burying his face in her short, feathery hair. She giggles.

“He’s been like this all day, Dad.”

Dan blows a raspberry on her cheek. “I’ll be like this forever,” he declares, laughing, and then he stops, and his shoulders start to shake, and he grips her tighter.

* * *

When your daughter is dying, good and bad moments sometimes happen simultaneously. The mindset of enjoying every instant while she’s still here is chased by the emptiness, that terrifying idea of _going on without her._ The fear that one day, you will exist without her. The fear of enjoying any moment after she’s gone. And then, those feelings are pushed aside, and the determination to remember every moment, every movement, every single word she says, returns.

It gets to the point where you look back on your day, your time with her, and you remember that one moment where you felt complete bliss. She kissed your cheek, or held your hand, and you thank God that you were just able to enjoy it. And you save that memory to a special folder in your brain, full of moments that you feel no guilt over, where you can honestly say that you weren’t focused on treasuring every moment, and you weren’t thinking about life without her. And unfortunately for Phil, this category of memories is too small.

Dan and Theo are going to be here in a few minutes. Phil stirs the noodles and butter vigorously, feeling for the milk with his other hand. He finds the handle and lifts, but as he does this, his other hand compensates by pressing down on his spatula… and the whole pot falls on the floor. Buttery noodles spread out from the upended pot like an open wound, and Phil swears to himself under his breath, heart sinking.

This is Theodora’s first night home in a month. She asked for one thing, and it was mac and cheese for dinner. And Phil, being the _idiot_ he was, only bought one box. He doesn’t have time to go to the store. His husband and daughter are taking the bus home. Frustrated tears slide down his cheeks and he gets to work cleaning up the mess, wiping the floor and washing the pot, until the front door opens and closes and he hears Theo’s delighted laughter. He peeks down the hallway and sees Dan lifting her up and nuzzling her cheek, and he falls in love with him just a little bit more, and then he remembers the recent fiasco in the kitchen. He shuffles fully out into the hallway and looks up at Dan through his eyelashes.

“Oh, lord, what did you do?” Dan laughs, spotting Phil's guilty expression.

“Well, first of all, gimme a hug, Theo,” he says, kneeling down with open arms; she skips over into his arms, and he feels that moment of bliss, taking a deep breath. “Okay, Teddy, I know you wanted mac and cheese for dinner,” he starts, his heart already breaking, “But I-" he glances at Dan “—spilled it on the floor, as I was making it…”

Dan’s eyes are on their daughter, gauging her reaction.

“That’s okay, Daddy, we can have it another time,” she says, hugging Phil tighter, and he runs his hand through her hair.

“Thank God for you, Theo,” he says, kissing her on the cheek.

“What about ordering in, Dora?” Dan suggests behind them, and Theodora gasps.

“Can we have Chinese food?” she asks, eyes wide. “That’s even better than mac and cheese!”

“Can you get the menu, Phil?” Dan asks, taking out his phone.

After ordering spicy beef for Dan (which he maintains is never spicy enough), sesame chicken for Phil, and plain noodles for Theodora, the couple sits on the couch while their daughter goes through the DVD collection.

“What are ya thinkin’, Ted?” Phil asks, arm around his husband while Dan rests his head on Phil’s shoulder.

“Well,” she replies, still focused on the titles, “I’ve got it narrowed down to three.”

“Do tell,” Dan says, eyes closed.

“We’ve got _Wall-E, Mulan,_ and _The Grand Budapest Hotel.”_

“Which one are you in the mood for?” Phil asks, and his daughter pauses, thinking hard.

_“The Grand Budapest Hotel.”_

“Grand Budapest it is, then!” Dan says, hopping up and picking up the box, but Dora swats his hand away.

“I want to do it on my own,” she insists, opening the box with her little hands and turning on the television. Her dads exchange an amused glance.

An hour and a half later, Theodora is in between Dan and Phil, a large bowl of popcorn in her lap, dishes from the takeout stacked in the kitchen, her eyes fixed on M. Gustave. Her oxygen tank sits on the floor, leaning against the couch. “This movie has quite a sad ending, doesn’t it?” she observes. “Nobody really ends up happy.”

* * *

The trees are a brilliant shade of orange today. The air is deliciously crisp, and the sun shines, unaccompanied by its usual clouds. Dan and Phil take turns pushing Theodora on the swing set while her delighted giggles ring through the morning. They take care not to push too hard, knowing in the back of their minds that she’s not very strong right now.

“Higher!” she yells with a laugh, and her parents exchange a glance, pushing a little bit harder. “Higher!”

They make a mutual decision to maintain their current height, but Dora doesn’t seem to notice, anyway. For a few minutes she’s laughing and shouting and they smile at each other, beginning to enjoy themselves, too, until her laughs subside.

“Stop—Dad, stop—” she gasps, coughing, and they immediately spring into action, pulling her gently off the swing.

“Is the oxygen working?” Dan demands, and Phil checks the gauges.

“It’s fine,” he replies, touching Theo’s forehead, irrationally checking for a fever, but finding it slick with sweat. Her eyes begin to roll, eyelids fluttering, and Phil whips out his cellphone, dialing 999 while Dan takes her pulse and checks for any clogged airways, and the ambulance is on the way.

“Dad,” she breathes, looking at both Dan and Phil with wide eyes. She’s afraid. Phil can’t do anything but pray, so that’s what he does.

“Breathe with me, baby,” Dan pleads, and starts to take deep breaths, which she mimics shallowly, and he grasps her hand tightly. Her fingers curl around his. “Where the hell is the ambulance?” he shouts, glancing at his husband.

“It—It should be here soon—“ Phil swallows, looking around and straining his ears for the siren. Nothing.

Phil takes her other hand and brings it up to his lips, closing his eyes, tears leaking without his knowledge.

_Do not take her away from me._

“Please, God.”

Dan glances at him again for a moment before turning back to their daughter, directing her breathing.

“Daddy, it’s—I can’t see—“

“Just breathe, Dora, breathe,” Dan says, a sob ripping out of his lungs. “Phil—Phil—“

Her eyes are fluttering slower now, breaths becoming more labored, and Phil’s eyes flash.

This could be it. This could be the last time he talks to her.

“Honey, Teddy, we love you so much, please— _please stay—“_ He takes a deep breath, mind reeling, “I haven’t made you your mac and cheese yet, just please stay with me—“

Her eyes are closed now, chest barely moving, and sirens sound in the distance.

“Oh my God, oh my God, _please—“_ Phil puts his mouth on hers and breathes, and her chest rises, and he comes up for air and her chest falls back down like a deflated balloon. The sirens are getting louder. He gives her more air.

He’s not sure how many times he does this before Dan grabs his shoulder, getting him out of the paramedics’ way—they immediately give her an oxygen mask and transfer her onto a gurney. Dan and Phil follow close behind and start to climb into the ambulance before they’re stopped by one of the medics.

“I’m sorry, there isn’t room,” he says, clearly wishing he didn’t have to say it.

“We don’t… we don’t have a car,” Dan breathes, looking between the man and Phil desperately.

The medic shakes his head. “I’m sorry. But we have to help her and we—“

“We can take a cab,” Phil says firmly, taking Dan’s hand. He nods at the medic and leads his husband away, again taking out his phone. “We love you, Teddy, we’ll meet you at the hospital!” he calls, hoping she’s able to hear him.

* * *

The waiting room is silent. Dan shuffles to the oversized coffee machine and fills a small styrofoam cup, bringing it up to his lips and grimacing at the taste. He pours in some powdered milk and three packets of sugar, tossing in a stirring stick, looking over at Phil as he sloshes the liquid around. He’s reading from his Bible.

It’s been six hours. Multiple groups of people have come and gone, all of them glancing over at the two men slumped in their chairs, faces red with recurring tears. Hands perpetually connected.

They’ve been told almost nothing, except the fact that their daughter had a collapsed lung, and needed immediate surgery.

“It is possible that she may have brain damage from oxygen deprivation, but we won’t know the extent, or if there even is any, until she wakes up.”

“So she’s going to wake up?”

“We think so, Mr. Lester.” The doctor had placed her hand gently on his shoulder and given him a reassuring nod before going back through the wide, swinging doors.

Dan sits back down next to him, still absentmindedly stirring his coffee, while Phil continues to read his battered Bible. This time he’s turned to the book of John. He likes that one; the words are comforting. Beside him, Dan stares straight ahead. In the corner of the room is a man, hunched over, elbows on knees, face in hands, hair frazzled. The only other person is the nurse’s assistant at the desk. Phil leans forward, eyes closed, hands clasped, silent for a long time. Dan observes him.

“What are you praying about?” he asks quietly, not wanting the other people to hear.

Phil opens his eyes. “What do you think?”

Dan frowns, thinking. More silence. “How can you pray to Him?”

“I didn’t think you believed in Him,” Phil replies, watching Dan carefully. Dan shakes his head.

“I never said that. I don’t… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay to not know,” Phil says, taking his husband’s hand again.

“But… how do _you_ know?” the taller man asks, watching their intertwined hands.

“I just… I dunno, I just feel it,” Phil says simply. Dan turns to stare at him.

“So what do you pray about?”

Phil stares back. “I pray for Theo, I pray for us, and my parents, and your parents, and your brother, and my brother, and my friend Mike from high school; I pray for strength, and guidance, and…” Phil trails off. He clears his throat. “I pray for almost everything.”

Dan digests all of this for a few minutes, taking sips from his coffee, and Phil turns back to his Bible, but he’s distracted from it now. He eyes his husband over the top of the book.

“We never talk anymore.”

The book lowers a little. “What?”

“Ever since the diagnosis, I feel like… we haven’t really talked,” Dan whispers, a tear slipping down his cheek, looking anywhere but at Phil. “And you’re at church all the time, and you’re always reading that book, and I—I feel like…”

“You feel like what?” Phil prods, tears brewing solely from watching Dan cry.

Dan turns to him, eyes swimming. “Do you love me? I… I just—I know haven’t really been—the best person to be around—“

Phil wraps his arms around Dan, stroking his hair as Dan cries into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been going into work,” he sobs, tears falling liberally onto the fabric of Phil’s shirt while Phil shushes him gently. “I just can’t stand the thought of—of Dora all alone in her room, I don’t want her life to—to be like that—“ his breaths are quickened as he pulls Phil closer. 

“Dan, it’s okay, bear, it’s okay,” Phil repeats quietly, over and over, rubbing Dan’s back.

“Phil… aren’t you mad at Him?” Dan says, pulling back to look at him, eyes puffy and bloodshot.

“What?”

“He’s taking her away from us. He made her that way, right? How could He do that? What did she ever do wrong?” The tears continue to fall but Dan doesn’t seem to notice them now.

Phil takes awhile to think about his answer. “I’m not mad.”

“What?”

He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “I’m not mad at Him. He gave us our daughter. He gave me the best years of my life, with Teddy, and you… I’m so thankful. I’m heartbroken, because of how many years I’ll have to wait to see her again, but I know she’s going to such a beautiful place… and I’m just happy that I got to meet her.”

* * *

He couldn’t leave. He had to keep her warm. He wrapped his arms around her and touched his lips to her forehead and felt heat, and he had to make it stay. He took her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over her fingers, and he tucked her head into the nook of his shoulder, and he breathed.

He couldn’t hear anything. He could see the doctor’s lips moving but she wasn’t saying any words, and Dan was on the floor. He turned back to his daughter, whose fingers were starting to get cold, no matter what he did. A feeling of panic washed over him. She was gone, and her warmth was leaving, too, and very soon she would have to be taken away, but he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t just give up on her like that. She had to stay.

“Sir, Mr. Lester, we have to take her now,” A man said gently, standing next to the bed.

“No,” Phil mumbled, “I’m not—she can’t go.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”

If he listened hard he could hear her breathe. He could hear her laugh. If he listened hard, he could hear her telling him about her day. He could hear her saying, “I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m okay.” He held her to his chest and heard her whisper, “Let me go.”

So, eventually, he found his arms going slack, laying her gently back down on her pillow, leaning over and pulling Dan up from the ground and holding onto him, holding him up as his knees buckled, and the man took Theodora out of the room, and her parents sank to the floor.

* * *

The air is slightly stale and the sound of the copier pulls Dan out of his trance. He straightens up in his chair and looks down at the papers on his desk, half filled out, before standing up and making his way to the coffee machine, past coworkers who try not to stare at him as he goes.

He’s had too much coffee today and doesn’t actually want any more but pours it anyway and stirs in the cream, staring as it changes the color of the dark liquid. He empties a sugar packet into the styrofoam cup and watches the crystals sink, then pours in another, and another, getting lost in his thoughts. After he’s spent as much time at the coffee machine as he can, he goes back to his seat. He gazes again at the papers, just some tax forms he has to fill out for the new year, but the words don’t mean anything so he takes a sip of coffee, and then another. The woman whose desk touches his own is glancing at him over her glasses, head still low and bent over her work but eyes wandering.

Dan avoids her eyes for as long as he can before standing up, and she sinks lower into her seat, averting her gaze. “Tanya,” he inquires gently, giving her a bland smile. “I’m not feeling well today. Can you let Paul know that I went home early?”

Tanya nods her head slowly, a pitiful smile on her lips as she looks at Dan. “‘Course, Dan, I’ll tell him.”

Dan nods and puts on his coat, tucking his papers into a messy drawer in his desk. “Thank you, Tanya. Happy new year.”

“Feel better, love,” she replies, and her eyes follow him as he opens the heavy door leading to the lifts.

* * *

He turns the last page of the photo album and the leather cover stares back at him. He sets the book back on the coffee table, where it’s remained for the past few months, and suddenly he remembers that Phil had made another when Dora was a baby and it must be in the house somewhere.

Dan doesn’t know why every closet in their house is a dumpster and it certainly doesn’t help him find what he’s searching for, but in the third one he searches he finds an old shoebox, and when he opens it little pieces of paper flutter through the air with Phil’s chicken scratch handwriting all over them. The box is overflowing with them. He sits back against the wall and picks one up.

_17/3/2025_

_Teddy_

_Cure_

_me and Dan- help me talk more, be more honest_

_Dan- please let him find a job he loves_

_mum & Dad- keep them happy and healthy_

Dan stares, thumb gently rubbing over the pencil marks. He carefully sets the piece of paper to the side and picks up another one.

_28/12/2024_

_Theo_

_help through chemo, no pain_

_More new years with Ted_

_give me strength for Dan_

_neighbour’s cat- help find, keep safe_

Dan smiles briefly and goes onto another.

_20/6/2025_

_Teddy_

_Help me just enjoy it_

_Thank you for Dan_

Dan feels a tear on his cheek and wipes it away, stuffing his hand in the box and pulling out another. Looking at the date, his heart drops. The day before Dora…

_29/9/2025_

_take me instead of her._

_Keep them both alive and just take me._

“Dan?” Phil calls; Dan hears him clamber out of his shoes and close the front door. “You home?”

“Yeah,” he replies, too quietly for his husband to hear. Phil’s footsteps move from the entry way to the kitchen below and the fridge opens up, before suddenly closing again. Dan listens as his footsteps slowly go back to the living room and remembers he left the closet completely wrecked; Phil probably thinks they got robbed or something. Dan clears his throat. “I’m home.” But his voice is barely more than a whisper. Why can’t he talk?

He stands up, bringing the box with him without thinking, and trudges down the stairs, pieces of paper drifting through the air behind him like rose petals at a wedding. He turns at the landing, going down more steps with his eyes on the box, and when he glances up he sees Phil frozen at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide, wielding a baseball bat, and slowly Dan starts to laugh. Phil begins chuckling as well, lowering the bat with a blush.

“Where the fuck did you even find a baseball bat?” Dan gets out through fits of laughter, and Phil joins him in earnest now, eyes starting to water.

“I hide it behind the toilet door, you’ve never noticed?” he wheezes, and Dan shakes his head, unable to reply with words, laughing harder. “Why didn’t you answer when I called?” Phil giggles, before suddenly straightening up, smile gone, eyeing the box in Dan’s arms, and Dan’s laughter subsides quickly. “Why do you have that?” he asks quietly.

Dan looks down at the box; he forgot he brought it with him. “Oh, I… I was looking for Dora’s baby album and I…”

Phil’s eyes remain on the box. Seeing his husband with it is strange; even though he didn’t really try to hide it, it still feels somewhat private. “Did you read any of those?”

“Only a few,” Dan replies in a small voice. “I’m sorry, Phil. I didn’t…”

“No, hey, it’s okay,” Phil says quickly, climbing the stairs to Dan and wrapping his arms around him. Dan holds the box limply at his side.

“Are they… are these—prayers?” he asks timidly, absentmindedly burrowing his face into Phil’s shirt, and Phil’s arms wrap around him tighter, stroking his spine up and down with one of his fingers.

“Yeah,” Phil answers, lips resting on Dan’s hair. “I just thought… maybe it’ll work better if they’re written down.”

“Phil, when you said… to ‘take you instead,’” Dan ventures, and Phil’s finger pauses on his back for a split second before resuming, “You didn’t mean… I mean, you weren’t…” His breaths get shallower and his arm wraps around Phil’s neck, the other arm still holding the box.

“No—Dan, no, I wasn’t thinking—like that—” Phil stammers, running his hand through his husband’s hair, “I haven’t thought about that since—for a really long time, Dan, I promise—”

Dan drops the box and it lands on the floor with a soft thud, a few more pieces of paper fluttering out, and he puts both arms around Phil.

“Okay,” Phil says after a few minutes, and Dan smiles. “I got champagne and shrimp cocktail and I’m going to kiss you at midnight, if we’re both still awake.”

* * *

Tanya’s eyes follow him as he walks past his desk and knocks lightly on his boss’ door.

“Come in,” he calls, and Dan opens it, smiling at him politely and closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, Paul, happy new year,” he starts, and Paul smiles and wishes him the same, gesturing to the chair across from him.

“What can I do for you, Dan?” Paul says in a jolly voice, and Dan really wishes his boss was an asshole, just for today.

“Well, I—Paul, I really appreciate what you’ve done for me here, and with everything… with Dora, I just—thank you for being so patient and understanding.”

“It’s no trouble, Dan, I can’t even imagine.…” he says, straightening a pen on his desk. He looks up at him. “I’m… Again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Dan nods. “Thank you.” He takes a deep breath. “Paul, I need to quit.”

He smiles sadly. “I admit, I’m not surprised,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. Dan nods again, looking at his entwined fingers.

“I just… I need to find something I love to do. Something that makes me happy,” he replies, “because ever since Dora, I… I don’t have time to be unhappy.”

Paul nods, standing up, and Dan shakes his hand. “We really loved having you, Dan, we’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After he’s packed his desk, Tanya stands, and before he’s looked up she hugs him tightly. He wraps his arms around her in response, patting her back gently. She goes on her tip toes and cranes her neck, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, and he picks up his boxes.

“I’ll miss you, love, give Phil my best!” She sits down on her rolling chair and waves goodbye.

That was easier than he thought it would be.

* * *

“I think I want to write,” Dan says, staring at the ceiling from his armchair.

Phil is laying on the couch, skimming through his Bible, and he peers at his husband over the top of the book, thinking. He smiles. “Dan, that sounds perfect.”

Dan looks at him, relieved. “Really?”

Phil sits up and puts down his Bible. “Yeah, I mean if that’s what you want to do, and I think we can make it off my income for a while—”

He’s interrupted by Dan’s lips on his, and Dan slowly crawls onto his lap, Phil’s hands finding their way to his waist.

* * *

Phil opens the door slowly, delicately, almost as if he doesn’t want to wake her. The lights are off, which is wrong because—because she always slept with a nightlight…

He hurries over and unplugs it, a little thing with a switch and a purple, glittery shade, and he takes out the small lightbulb. He shakes it next to his ear and it rattles metallically, and his breathing stops. The bulb broke. It broke because she’s been gone long enough… for the bulb to stop working. It wore out. She’s gone.

She’s gone.

“Dan?” he tries, but no one answers. “D-Dan?!” He rocks back on his knees and his husband doesn’t come, and he can’t remember why, and he can’t breathe, where is he? Where’s Dan?

“Phil, I’m home,” he calls from downstairs, closing the front door, and Phil still can’t breathe; he leans against her bed, dropping the lightbulb he had forgotten he was holding, and it shatters on the floor. He scrambles to sit up and his hand digs into the broken glass and he lets out a yelp of pain. “Phil?” Dan calls, hearing the noise, dropping his grocery bags and running up the stairs, pausing when he hears him in their daughter’s room and then charging in, blinking in the low light. He flips on the overhead and sees his husband on the floor, gasping, blood covering his arm—where’s it coming from? Did it—did he…

“Fuck, fuck, Phil,” he breathes, dashing to his side and kneeling down, grabbing Phil’s wounded arm—he can’t tell where the blood is coming from. “Phil, what happened?”

“She’s—Dan, she’s gone,” Phil sobs, tears streaming down his face, still trying to breathe.

“Where did you… where did you cut yourself, Phil?” Dan asks, gripping his arm and then cradling his face, and Phil only answers by holding up his hand, and that’s not—that’s not where you would cut if you wanted to—

“Thank _god,”_ Dan says, relief flooding through him, finally noticing the broken glass on the floor. “Phil, we need to stand up, we need to wash your arm off so I can see the cut, c’mon, honey—”

* * *

Phil walks into the waiting room with a white bandage covering the heel of his palm and an embarrassed look on his face. Dan gets up to greet him and takes his uninjured hand, thanking the doctor.

“We removed all of the glass from the wound and put in dissolvable sutures, so there shouldn’t be any need for a checkup,” The doctor says, smiling at them both. “Try to avoid using this hand and if you have any questions, give us a call.” Dan and Phil return his smile and Phil thanks him one last time, and eventually they’re sitting in their kitchen in silence.

Dan can’t stop looking at him. “Phil…” Phil glances up from peeking under the bandage, trying to get a look at the stitched up wound. “What… What happened?”

Phil sighs. “I went into Teddy’s room… just because, y’know?” Dan nods. “Her nightlight had burned out and it just… it hit me that she’s gone. And, I dunno, I just couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t breathe and I was calling for you—I’d forgotten that you’d gone to the supermarket—I dropped the lightbulb and accidentally put my hand in the glass and that’s when you came in.”

Dan takes a deep breath, eyes swimming with tears. “Phil, I thought you were trying to—”

“You thought I was trying to hurt myself?” Phil interrupts quietly, shaking his head. “Dan, I told you, I… I haven’t had those thoughts in—in _years._ Why would you—it just astounds me that you still think I would do that!” he snaps, voice a little too loud. “After everything we’ve been through?”

_“Yes_ after everything we’ve been through!” Dan lets out a harsh breath, tears beginning to fall. He takes Phil’s hands in his own. “We have been through _so much_ and I—I’m tired! I’m just tired, Phil,” he says, voice cracking. “And I keep expecting you to realize how tired you are, and then something like this happens and it’s like ‘Phil—Phil’s finally noticed that Dan isn’t worth it!’” he cries, hiccuping slightly as Phil watches him.

“So you think I’d _kill myself,”_ Phil says in a low voice, and Dan flinches, “because I don’t want to be with you anymore? Which is— _bullshit,_ by the way, I’m _never_ going to leave you—but honestly, Dan, you think I’d put you through that after we _lose our daughter?”_

Dan hiccups again, wiping his cheek and staring down at their hands. “It’s just… once that fear of you doing that was there, it… it’s _always_ going to be there.” He looks back up at his husband. “No matter how much time passes. It’s just always going to be my fear.”

They stare at each other for a long time and then they’re holding each other tightly, faces buried in each other’s shoulders, and Phil is muttering reassurances into Dan’s shirt and Dan is gripping the fabric of Phil’s shirt tightly, and the whole time they had forgotten to turn the lights on.

* * *

Phil stands up with the rest of the congregation, singing along with the thick, aged hymnal, keeping his finger on the verses so that Dan can follow along too. He likes to play a little game with himself where he tries to find the oldest hymn he can and he points out the date at the bottom of the page to his husband—1348! Dan glances at the date and then looks at Phil with wide eyes and an open-mouthed, sarcastic smile and Phil giggles, nudging him with his shoulder.

Pastor Greg makes his way in front of the altar and holds out his hands as the hymn ends. “You can all be seated.” There’s a clumsy cacophony as about a hundred people sit down in the pews. The pastor smiles. “Welcome! We’re thrilled to worship with you on this second Sunday after Easter. Please stand up and greet your neighbours!”

Dan grumbles slightly as they stand up again and start shaking hands with the people in their vicinity, putting on a polite smile.

An old woman in a pastel green cardigan shuffles up and shakes hands with them. “You must be Dan,” she says, beaming at the tall, brown haired stranger. “We’ve heard so much about you! Welcome!”

Dan mocks offense and looks at Phil. “And who is this _Dan person?”_ He says accusingly, and Phil glances between them with wide eyes and a taped-on smile. The woman looks alarmed.

Phil laughs a little too loud. “Oh, Dan, you’re such a card! Marjory, isn’t he just too much?” Dan appears as though he’s regretting his decision to try and be funny, and Marjory realizes the joke and laughs too loudly as well, nodding to them before making her way to shake hands with other people. The two men exchange glances and break out into quiet laughter, but Dan decides to just shake hands and smile at the rest of the people he greets.

Eventually Dan turns and is face to face with Pastor Greg, who seemed to walk to him specifically. He holds out his hand and Dan grips it, smiling.

“Dan, it’s wonderful to see you today, I’ve been waiting to meet you for years,” He says warmly. Phil’s always said he has a way of making people feel all fuzzy and nice inside and it’s working on Dan. He smiles genuinely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Greg, I’ve heard a lot about you.” The pastor nods to them both and bustles back to the altar, bowing before he goes up the steps, and turns back to the congregation, holding out his hands again to show that they can all be seated. Phil looks sideways at Dan and smiles to himself as the pastor starts speaking.

“As it is the second Sunday after Easter,” he begins, “today is going to be all about the _effects_ of that empty tomb, and what it means. The fact that we are, all of us, saved.”

Dan watches Phil, who is looking attentively at the pastor as he goes through his introduction. He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Phil gestures for him to stand up with everyone, and they sing another hymn. This one’s from 1856; not as fun. After a while of sitting and standing and singing and reading out creeds, random men stand up and make their way to the altar, kneeling while the pastor gives them each a small wafer and about a tablespoon of wine in a tiny cup.

“Waste of plastic,” Dan leans over and whispers to Phil, and Phil just grins and shakes his head as the men begin directing rows of people to the altar. Eventually Dan and Phil are kneeling side by side, and one of the men comes by with a small plate of wafers. Dan reaches his hand out but hesitates before taking it. He glances over as he chews the dry, tasteless bread and eagerly awaits the wine that is being carried in a larger plate by a woman. He drinks it (there’s less than a mouthful) and then there’s a robed kid in front of him, about thirteen, holding a plate to dispense the cup into, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Dan notices Phil watching him as they’re directed to stand, following the line and eventually making it back to their seats.

Pastor Greg remains seated and an old, frail man with an oxygen tank gets behind the podium off to the side of the altar, flipping his Bible to the correct page.

“Today’s reading comes from the Gospel according to John, chapter twenty-one, verses one through fourteen. ‘After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples…’”

Dan tries to listen but his eyes can’t seem to stray from the oxygen tank sitting next to the old man, feeling anger course through his blood. Of course this frail old man needs an oxygen tank. It makes sense for him. He’s almost to the end. But Dan’s daughter should have had close to a hundred more years of life. And she’s gone. And this guy’s still here. Why?

_Why?_

Dan glances down and sees that his hands are shaking, balled into fists, and Phil is looking at him, eyes wide. A tear drop falls onto Dan’s jeans. He didn’t even realize he was crying. He stands up suddenly, going down the side aisle, followed closely by his husband, and goes into the common area, as far away as he can get from all of those people.

“Dan,” Phil says quietly, not wanting to disturb the reading. Dan ignores him so he grabs his elbow to slow him down. “Dan.”

Dan turns back to him, eyes red. “What?”

“What’s wrong?”

Dan shakes his head, more tears falling down his cheeks as he takes refuge on the stairs up to the choir. “It… it’s that fucking oxygen tank.”

Phil nods. “I noticed it too.”

“It’s just so fucking unfair, Phil,” he sputters, voice shaking, and Phil sits down next to him, draping his arm over his shoulder and bringing him closer. _“Why? Why_ is she… she’s dead.” Dan’s eyes are wide and he stares into a middle distance. “Oh my god—Phil. She’s dead. She’s d—” He gasps loudly and buries his face in Phil’s neck, audibly sobbing, and Phil can’t do anything but grip him tightly and breathe, and wait for him to breathe too.

* * *

“So, what did you think of church? Y’know, other than the…” Phil clears his throat. “The end.”

Dan sits back in his chair, leaning away from his desk and the glow of his computer screen. “There was a lot of sitting and standing. My legs hurt.”

Phil chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, that part is kind of annoying.” He looks at his husband with a too-casual expression on his face. “But, um, what about, like, _church?”_

Dan meets his eyes. “It wasn’t too bad, I didn’t mind it. I actually wouldn’t mind going back.”

Phil waits. “But…” he prompts.

Dan sighs. “But, Phil… I just don’t really know if I believe in… all of that,” he says, not wanting to make eye contact anymore. His fingers thrum on the arm of his chair as his husband nods.

“You—Dan, you really don’t have to, y’know, _believe,_ it’s just, it was nice of you to go.” Phil smiles. “I think Marjory had a crush on you.”

Dan laughs, leaning back on his chair a little more. “I’m sorry, Phil, I don’t think she’s ever gonna talk to you again,” he chuckles, and Phil shakes his head.

“She’s a bit nosy, anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he says, “but you better not mess up my chances with Karen.”

“Ooh, Karen, should I be jealous?”

Phil nods seriously. “She teaches Wednesday Bible Study and she makes a _damn_ good baked ziti.”

“Maybe I’ll start attending these ‘studies’ with you,” Dan says, putting finger quotes around the word, and Phil laughs. Dan walks over and sits beside Phil, snuggling into his chest, and Phil wraps his arm around him. Dan hums contentedly. “I love you.” Phil says it back and presses a kiss to the top of his head, and they both just enjoy each other for a while. Dan’s breath is warm on Phil’s shirt and his finger traces patterns on his chest while Phil does the same on his arm.

“I miss her, Phil.” Phil is still for a bit before nodding. “Do you think she’s still here? Or… anywhere?”

Phil’s hand trails slowly through his hair and Dan closes his eyes. “Well, I believe she’s in heaven, but I think she can still see us.”

Dan breathes out and nods slightly. “I think I believe in heaven.” It’s quiet for a few moments. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t believe in heaven.”

* * *

Phil’s elbows rest on the arms of his wooden chair, fingers loosely clasped together over his lap. “I’m sorry if I’m… I dunno, a bother for doing this every week.”

Greg shakes his head decisively. “You’re not, Phil. You say that every week but you are never a bother.”

Phil nods, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, and opens his mouth a few times before actually speaking. “Dan seems to think, lately, or he’s afraid… that I’m going to try…” the words get bunched up in his throat, as if they’re reluctant to come out. His lips fall closed.

The pastor leans forward in his seat. “Try what, Phil?”

Phil closes his eyes, and they clamp shut of their own accord and his eyebrows furrow and his hands grip each other until his knuckles are white. It seems as though his entire body doesn’t want to talk about this. Does _he_ want to talk about this? “I—I don’t—” he exhales sharply.

Greg watches him closely. “Do you want to tell me, Phil?”

Phil’s head shakes left and right, eyes still shut, but he does. He does want to talk about it.

Greg nods gently. “You don’t have to if you’re not comf—”

“I tried to kill myself.”

He opens his eyes. His heart gives a hard _thump_ and his hands are shaking slightly, adrenaline rushing, but something inside him feels lighter.

“This is… This is the first time I’ve ever actually said that.” His voice is too quiet, barely above a whisper, but his throat is so tight that he can’t speak any louder.

The pastor nods again. “When did this happen?”

“Eight years ago,” Phil answers, and then keeps going. “I tried to overdose and Dan found me, and he took—he took me to the hospital, and I—I was there for about a month.”

Greg smiles sadly. “Thank you for telling me this, Phil…. If I may, what… what led you to do this?”

Phil shakes his head slowly. “I…I dunno, I wasn’t thinking, I was… I was thinking too much. I just didn’t want to be alive anymore. And, just… suddenly nothing mattered.” His voice is still so quiet, but Greg is nodding along attentively, eyes filled with concern. Phil’s finger runs over the arm of the chair, waiting for something to be said.

“And now Dan is worried again?”

Phil nods. “But it’s just… it’s unnecessary, because ever since we had Theodora it hasn’t—it’s not even an option. For me. But he just… it’s like he doesn’t believe me, or he doesn’t trust me, ever since Theo passed away. He keeps waiting for me to try again.”

Greg listens, taking a sip of tea from a large mug as Phil speaks, and when he falls quiet he asks his question. “Have you had any suicidal thoughts since your daughter passed?”

“No—well, the first week was hell and it crossed my mind, but not, y’know, as an actual consideration. Just a fleeting… _thing,_ and I can turn it off. I mean,” Phil takes a breath, “it’s a pretty normal thing, when your child has died, for that to happen, right?” He looks at Greg, afraid of the answer.

* * *

“Dan? I’m home,” Phil calls, taking off his shoes at the door and hanging up his jacket. Something smells wonderful. Dan pokes his head out from the kitchen and smiles, brushing off his hands on his jeans and walking towards him.

When he gets close his arms snake around Phil’s neck and he brings his face closer, kissing him deeply, and Phil’s hands slowly make their way to his waist. Dan pulls back a few centimeters, Phil’s lips chasing his for a fraction of a second before allowing the kiss to break, and Dan smiles again, their breath mixing. “Hi.”

Phil blinks a few times, eyes flitting between Dan’s, and grins back. “Hello.”

“I made carnitas.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

Dan laughs, taking Phil’s hand and leading him to the kitchen, tortillas already on plates and the meat steaming in the slow cooker. “I mean, I worked pretty hard, so do with that information what you will,” he laughs, glancing down at their entwined hands and looking up through his eyelashes. Phil’s free hand cradles Dan’s jaw and he brings their lips together again, thumb rubbing over his cheek. Dan’s tongue swipes across his lip, arms around him again, and Phil picks him up by his thighs and sets him on the counter, hips in between Dan’s knees while Dan’s mouth opens and his tongue explores Phil’s.

Phil’s thumbs are rubbing circles on the outside of his thighs and Dan pulls away again with a smile, hopping down from the counter and getting their dinner ready while Phil pants slightly behind him.

“So, how was church?” he asks casually, and Phil goes quiet. He looks over his shoulder at him and Phil’s hand is rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly, eyes cast to the ground. “Phil?"

“It was fine,” he replies quietly.

Dan turns fully around. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t want to ruin the mood,” Phil says, grabbing a plate and scooping some meat onto a tortilla, but Dan gently takes his wrist and puts the plate down.

“I don’t want there to be a mood if you’re not happy.”

“I am happy, Dan, I’m—” he takes his hand and leads him to the dining room, sitting them both down. Dan’s eyes are wide and he stares at his husband. “I just want to talk about something.”

Dan's mind jumps from subject to subject, fear to fear, as he waits for Phil to speak. Phil squeezes his hand and catches his eye.

“I… I just wanted to say, I... I’m sorry for trying to—to kill myself,” he says, voice getting softer as the sentence goes on, throat getting tighter.

Dan stays silent, heart thumping in response to Phil’s words.

“I—I just… I’m so sorry, Dan. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks, and Dan grips his hand tighter. “I’m so sorry.” His fingers numbly reach for Dan’s face and he brings their foreheads together, closing his eyes, and Dan’s thumbs wipe both his cheeks before trailing through his hair.

“Phil… it was so long ago, there’s no need to apologize,” Dan says softly.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

Dan is silent again for awhile, digesting Phil’s words.

“Maybe—Maybe Teddy dying was my fault.”

Dan pulls back to look at him. “What? Phil—”

“We were always asking what we did wrong—well, maybe Teddy getting cancer was punishment for—for what I put you through—”

“Phil, _stop,”_ Dan says sternly, putting his hands on Phil's shoulders. “Do you really think God—the God you believe in would take our daughter away for that? For being clinically depressed?” Phil slowly starts to shake his head. “No, He wouldn’t. The God I would want to believe in—well, He wouldn’t have let any of this shit happen in the first place—” Phil gives a weak chuckle. Dan sighs, bringing their foreheads together again. “I forgave you a long time ago, Phil. And God did, too. The only person who hasn’t forgiven you is you.”

* * *

He works his way through the aisles, grabbing peanut butter, two boxes of cereal (one for him and one for Dan), toilet paper, another candle he doesn’t need, pizza rolls, apples, granola, Ben and Jerry’s. His eyes linger over one product as he keeps passing it on his way to other things but he finds himself returning to it just to stare, the thin boxes stacked deep into the shelf, and he grabs one. He gently shakes it and the noodles rattle inside against the cardboard, and he can almost taste the artificial flavor of the orange cheese powder. He places the box delicately in his cart, next to the bread, and stares at it, rubbing his thumbs absentmindedly on the metal handle bar, before pushing the cart down the aisle, listening to the sound of people and the dings of money drawers and the arguments of parents and their children and the squeaking of rusty wheels, and he can almost hear her, but this time it makes him smile.


End file.
